


letters to the expositor

by moonbeatblues



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, and it goes indeterminately, i'm just taking a break from mech au, in which i attempt to write in first person, which is. taking a morose turn i'll admit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23580520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonbeatblues/pseuds/moonbeatblues
Summary: Beau sleeps like she’s not afraid Jester will look at her with her hair down and fanning out over the pillows. Which she does, sometimes.It’s not the first time Beau sleeps with her hair down that Jester starts writing questions, but it’s the first time Jester notices she always does it. So the first question she writes down is about that, but after a while it sort of just answers itself.Other ones aren’t so easy.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 6
Kudos: 98





	letters to the expositor

**Author's Note:**

> my current plan is to write something for each question (but. no promises, i've been in a mech au mood lately)

Beau’s asleep.

She sleeps heavy, for a monk. For an Ex-pos-i-tor, or maybe it’s exactly how an Expositor sleeps. Tired of paying attention to everything, intent on taking in nothing, on being dead to the loud, bright world for just a little while. Jester doesn’t really have anything to compare it to— doesn’t want anything to compare it to.

She doesn’t really remember when Beau started taking her hair down to bed.

And, you know, it probably started the same way things start between people. Blamed on other circumstances, the first time— probably she’d just finished washing blood out of it, or something— and just. Never quite changed back. It’s separate, at first, and then the break in routine becomes the routine. Becomes meaningful, in secret, until missing it would mean missing a whole lot more, too.

More like she braids Beau’s hair sometimes, when they’re staying somewhere that has good washtubs or, dare to dream, proper bathrooms— Beau likes baths, that’s something no one else knows, never passes up the chance to wash off the grime of travel. She’ll come back to the room looking pleased and sleepy, like a cat, and she’ll sit at the foot of the bed while Jester brushes out her hair all silky and braids it loose.

More like she sometimes steals Beau’s hair ribbons and ties them on her horn so she gets to be the one to put it back up in the morning, and Beau pretends to be mad about it but never really is. Because she could just wait until Jester is asleep and steal it back, but she doesn’t, because Beau sleeps heavy.

Beau sleeps like she’s not afraid Jester will look at her with her hair down and fanning out over the pillows. Which she does, sometimes.

It’s not the first time Beau sleeps with her hair down that Jester starts writing questions, but it’s the first time Jester notices she always does it.

So the first question she writes down is about that, but after a while it sort of just answers itself.

Other ones aren’t so easy.

—

_Why do you like Yasha?_

_Why are you only nice to me?_

_What’s kissing ~~a girl~~ like?_

_Do you want to have kids someday?_

_You said you thought of Nicodranas when Obann tried to charm you. What does that mean?_

~~_ You said you didn’t want to hurt me. Why don’t you think you leaving would hurt me? _ ~~

_—_

_Have you ever loved anyone else?_

_Maybe it’s because I only had Momma and the Traveler for so long— and Bluud, I guess— but I have never really loved someone like this before, you know?_

_Did you love Tori? It’s cool if you did, I promise I’m not jealous. Maybe it’s better if you did, if you had practice— you have to learn stuff while you’re loving someone, I had to learn that, too. It takes a while to figure out why you feel that weird heavy thing in your chest all the time, even when they’re not around. Like swallowing a magnet or something. I’ve never swallowed a magnet before, Caleb says it’s really dangerous and could rip a big hole in your stomach, but I think that’s what it would feel like._

_Maybe you knew all that stuff before me, because you had practice. I’m sorry it took me so long, butI get it now. I wish I knew right away, that that’s what you meant on the boat. Or did you not know you meant it then, either?_

_Veth says you told her a while ago, and that you sounded really sad. I’m sorry you had to be so sad about it. I keep thinking about you being sad all that time and wishing I could go back and tell you it was going to get better. I guess that’s what love is though, huh? Wishing you could undo the stuff that hurts somebody even if doesn’t make sense, because you just don’t want them to hurt at all._

_I guess I wanted to write this because I want you to know that someone loves you like that, you know? I hope someone loved you like that before, at least once. There’s stuff I don’t know about that happened to you, so I can’t wish it didn’t happen yet, but if someone loved you then, then they probably wished for it. But maybe you can just tell me, if you want to. I’ll always want you to._

_I dreamed about Nicodranas again. I know you want us all to be together after this and we will be, I promise, but I dreamed that it was just us in the house on the beach—and Nugget, of course. It was night and all the windows were open so everything smelled like the ocean, and you had your hair down. That’s how I knew it was just us, because your hair was down. I used to wonder why it was only me who saw you like that, but I get it now. There’s stuff about yourself you only want to give to certain people. I’m glad you want to give that to me._

_I hope I’m brave enough to tell you all this. Maybe I won’t be, but at least it’ll be here for you to maybe read, if I’m too scared. Momma wrote a lot of letters to Dad while he was away and she never sent any of them anywhere, not even now that she knows where he is, but maybe I’ll be different. I always wished for someone like Dad was to Momma, but I think you’re better. It just took me a little while to realize._

Beau’s asleep.

She says something into the pillow and the arm she has slung into Jester’s lap curls, tries to pull her closer, but Jester’s sitting up against the headboard.

After a moment, the eye Jester can see opens, casts a glance up at her. She can only see half of Beau’s face but the smile that curls onto it is plain, sunny.

“— drawing?”

“What?” She smooths a strand of hair from Beau’s face, lingers to wind it around her finger and tug softly.

Beau turns to look at her fully, blinking slow and lazy, like a cat. Her arm tightens across Jester’s lap again.

“What’re you drawing?”

Her voice is like crumpled paper, thin and raspy.

“Oh,” and she looks down at the page, her cramped handwriting. “Nothing, just writing a letter.” Her free hand releases the strand of hair to curl along Beau’s cheek, and she turns into it, eyes closed.

“Mm. Who’s it for?”

“You. I’ve been working on it for awhile. I just finished.”

“Can I read it?”

Beau’s eyes open, a facsimile of alertness, but her eyelids do that funny flutter Jester knows means she’s trying not to fall asleep again.

“In the morning,” Jester says, heart skipping, and she closes the book with a soft snap. “Go back to sleep.”

When Beau’s arm tries to curl again she lets it, lets herself be pulled against Beau’s side and stay there. She thinks about the end of a story, she thinks about a house in Nicodranas, on a cliff, footprints in the sand, and then she falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @seafleece on tumblr, come say hi!!


End file.
